Crosley Field.
When we first moved to the area I saw a game going on in this stadium from the highway as we drove by on the way to our new house. I asked my dad to take me to a game there soon. He told me that we would go to a Reds game as soon as we were all settled in. Less than three weeks later, we went to a Reds game, but it wasn't at the stadium I saw from the highway. It was at a concrete monstrosity I hadn't seen. And we ended up sitting somewhere near the gates of Heaven in this giant concrete doughnut, not in the grandstands of a ballpark that reminded me of every baseball movie I ever saw.
I was 8 and angry with my dad for taking me to the wrong park. Of course I got over it and actually enjoyed the game and his company without having to share his attention with my siblings. I only wished that the first time I spent more than 2 minutes alone with my Father (I can remember anyway) was at a real baseball park and not at the monstrosity that was Riverfront Stadium.